unted, word for word, the affronts she had received. This
done, she begged them in a kind of deep despair to drink; then laughed,
then cried, then took a little sip herself, then laughed and cried
again, and took a little more; and so, by degrees, the worthy lady went
on, increasing in smiles and decreasing in tears, until at last she
could not laugh enough at Miss Monflathers, who, from being an object
of dire vexation, became one of sheer ridicule and absurdity.

'For which of us is best off, I wonder,' quoth Mrs Jarley, 'she or me!
It's only talking, when all is said and done, and if she talks of me in
the stocks, why I can talk of her in the stocks, which is a good deal
funnier if we come to that. Lord, what does it matter, after all!'

Having arrived at this comfortable frame of mind (to which she had been
greatly assisted by certain short interjectional remarks of the
philosophical George), Mrs Jarley consoled Nell with many kind words,
and requested as a personal favour that whenever she thought of Miss
Monflathers, she would do nothing else but laugh at her, all the days
of her life.

So ended Mrs Jarley's wrath, which subsided long before the going down
of the sun. Nell's anxieties, however, were of a deeper kind, and the
checks they imposed upon her cheerfulness were not so easily removed.

That evening, as she had dreaded, her grandfather stole away, and did
not come back until the night was far spent. Worn out as she was, and
fatigued in mind and body, she sat up alone, counting the minutes,
until he returned--penniless, broken-spirited, and wretched, but still
hotly bent upon his infatuation.

'Get me money,' he said wildly, as they parted for the night. 'I must
have money, Nell. It shall be paid thee back with gallant interest one
day, but all the money that comes into thy hands, must be mine--not for
myself, but to use for thee. Remember, Nell, to use for thee!'

What could the child do with the knowledge she had, but give him every
penny that came into her hands, lest he should be tempted on to rob
their benefactress? If she told the truth (so thought the child) he
would be treated as a madman; if she did not supply him with money, he
would supply himself; supplying him, she fed the fire that burnt him
up, and put him perhaps beyond recovery. Distracted by these thoughts,
borne down by the weight of the sorrow which she dared not tell,
tortured by a crowd of apprehensions whenever the old m